Manassas
By Mona Wanlass

 

As dawn penetrates
the camouflage of darkness
gray mist rises
from the creek beds of Bull Run,
called to muster
in a stand of maples
shoulder to shoulder against
a backdrop of Union blue.
Snare drums advance
the centenarian collective
on footless march over Henry Hill–
through a perennial spread of wildflowers,
evanescing into early morning dew.
Sentries stand rooted in the wood line,
rusted canons silently hold their ground,
a bugle call reverberates
the tones of history–
over land still fraught in civil war.

 
Mona, a.k.a. ciquing, can be reached at ciquing1[at]cs.com. You can also find her on the boards at Song of the JubJub.

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